


False Herald

by ArchangelEquinox



Series: Once More to the Breach [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Demons, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Post-Battle, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4356998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelEquinox/pseuds/ArchangelEquinox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra has trouble dealing with everything she learned in the Fade.  She and Cullen try to talk it out, with some revelations in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Herald

Dawn was coming, but that didn't make any difference to Cassandra.  None of them had gotten any sleep after the assault against Adamant Fortress had ended -- too many wounded soldiers, destroyed supplies, or other small issues to care for, and not enough bedrolls, tents, or quiet to rest. 

            She, Solas, and Varric had finished their debriefing with the Inquisitor and her advisors  not long ago. A tentative plan had been formulated to spend a week in the Western Approach caring for wounded and slaying demons before the march back to Skyhold.  Josephine would be heading back in a few hours to start coordinating the Inquisition's invitation to the ball at Halamshiral in a few months' time.  Here in the Approach, Leliana would deal with the newly recruited Wardens, doing what she could to obtain information and prevent future possessions.  Cassandra and Cullen would tend to military matters while the Inquisitor, Solas, and Varric closed the few remaining rifts in the area. 

            It was a solid plan, one that accounted for all the Inquisition's current needs. 

            It did not, however, include time to deal with the revelations of the Fade.    

            Cassandra had stepped away from Solas and Varric almost immediately after the meeting was concluded, under strict orders to rest for at least four hours before looking to the soldiers.  But she couldn't sleep;  she'd stopped by the tent she shared with the Inquisitor to shed her armor and weapons, but she'd wandered back out into the Fortress, the leather of her leggings comforting in their snugness.  Her skin still crawled from the maggots and spiders they'd encountered in the Fade.   

            She followed the debris-strewn stairs up to the battlements.  From the top of the walls, she could see the remaining trebuchets below, their deadly payloads still cranked to fire.  A gentle breeze drifted over her, carrying the smells of gore and blood to assault her nostrils, and her chest constricted.  Her pulse skyrocketed as screams reached her from the surgeon's tents below, and as paralysis settled over her muscles, she realized she was having a panic attack. 

            Cassandra hadn't had one for years, not since just after Anthony's death. But walking in the Fade, the smells of flesh singeing and sulfur bubbling, the air just a touch too warm and wet to breath comfortably, had been too much. 

            She willed her legs into moving again -- to any onlookers, the Seeker had merely paused at the walls before moving on. 

            The stone beneath her feet felt hollow, empty, as she walked.  Sweat was breaking out on her forehead, her short hair damp with it.  The night sky was still dark, the breeze still cooler than it had been when the battle started.  But now, clogged with dust and the coppery smell of blood, that breeze only exacerbated her panic. 

            A small blockade rose in front of her, and she turned the corner around it.  The heavy silverite barrier was one of many strewn about the battlements by the Wardens in an attempt to bottleneck Inquisition soldiers.  It hadn't worked thanks to the Commander's tactics, but Cassandra felt a rush of unexpected sympathy for the Wardens.  Watching an army the size of the Inquisition's descend on their fortress, knowing they were outnumbered, feeling the walls shake as the trebuchets fired and the Fortress doors crashed in… it had to be terrifying. 

            Suddenly, violently, nausea ripped through Cassandra's gut and she heaved sideways, just missing her own boots.  An arm shot out to catch herself as her knees gave out.  Both shivering and sweating now, she slid to the ground.  Her breathing pounded in and out of her chest, her attempts to slow it useless.  The grit of sand between her teeth crunched as she tried to exhale slowly and she lurched forward, vomit spattering the stone once more.  

            When she finally looked up again, she jerked back with a start.  She'd collapsed practically on the body of an Inquisition soldier, his throat cut and blood splattering his armor. His face still contorted with a mix of fury and surprise, pain never even registering as he'd died.  Next to him, a Warden had fallen, her face to the stone and her back crisscrossed with slashes.  A knife lay nearby, the spatter of gore on its blade not even dry. Flies already buzzed around the blood.  They'd fought to the death, and recently, the agony of the war replayed before her eyes.    

            Cassandra pressed herself back against the wall, willing her stomach to stay down this time.  Her chest was slowly loosening, but neither her breathing nor her pulse had yet calmed.  The smell of the soldiers nearby, the metal of the blood and the foul stench of their bowels made it hard for her to think.  Her legs shook as she braced herself against the stone, forcing herself to her feet. 

            Stumbling, one hand pushing against the battlement walls, she managed to drag herself behind some crates and rubble before collapsing again.  There were no dead bodies nearby this time, no sick smells to upset her stomach again.  The wind from this side of the Fortress was starting to bring sounds of celebration -- low and careful, like the participants weren't quite sure it was appropriate yet too relieved to stop -- instead of screams.  Her body shifted just a little against the crate behind her and she slid down until she was laying on her side with her cheek flush against the ground. 

            Then the sobs finally came.  Shoulders shaking, face contorted, Cassandra Pentaghast's mouth fell open in a wordless scream to the Maker.  Her arms clutched at her abdomen, fingers digging into her flesh through her linen tunic.  Her legs tucked themselves toward her chest as she rolled, now almost face down on the stone.  Tears ran down her face, creating tiny canals through the demon gore and dried blood on her cheeks. 

            It seemed like hours passed before the tears finally slowed and her shaking subsided.  Her breathing finally started to slow, leaving the muscles of her chest to scream in agony they relaxed.  The tunic, sticky with sweat now, clung to her body.  She didn't move from her fetal position, didn't open her eyes even when the clinking of armor indicated that someone had found her. 

            Normally so strong, so stoic, Cassandra no longer cared who saw her in such a destroyed, helpless state.   

            The creaking of leather in front of her finally got her to open her eyes, though she saw little but the stone on which she lay.  Then a gloved hand gently grasped her shoulder and she moved to look.  For a moment, the tears on her cheek stuck to the ground, releasing with the sticky, oily sound of skin parting from stone.  She did not sit up. 

            The Commander crouched before her, his brown eyes haunted with concern and remnants of fear.  No, not the Commander, she realized as she took in his disheveled state.  He wore no breastplate or coat, his normally combed hair curling riotously about his head.  The demon gore he was spattered with had take on a grainy appearance as it collected sand, and the red-gold dirt from the Western Approach had settled into the lines of his face, lending him an aged look. There was even blood in his hair, rust-colored now as it dried.  Cullen, not her fellow advisor or the general but her friend, had been concerned enough to look for her.   

            He tucked his other arm under her torso, helping her sit up.  Then he produced a waterskin and brought it to her lips.  She drank greedily for a moment, her arms still clinging to her sides, before he pulled it away and stoppered it, setting it aside.  Leaning back against the crate, she closed her eyes for a long moment, tears drying on her face.  Cullen said nothing.    

            When she finally lifted her head again, she found him sitting beside her, his back against the rubble nearby.  His knees were up, his gloved hands dangling between them, and his head hung low, chin against his chest.  The tunic he wore was covered in blood but with no obvious holes -- not his blood, then, she noted with relief.  After a minute, he lifted his head and leaned it back against the rock, glancing over at her through barely opened eyes. 

            They looked around each other for a while, two soldiers struggling to open a post-battle conversation.  Both knew of the horrors the other had encountered; both knew the reticence to show weakness, emotion, struggle, anything but a clear head and a resolve to move forward. 

            Cullen finally chuckled quietly, turning to look at Cassandra. She watched him, dark eyes wary.   

            "What a pair of leaders we make," he muttered, and closed his eyes again. 

            Cassandra cracked a small smile.  "Indeed, Commander," she said quietly.  Cullen opened his eyes when Cassandra used his title.  He lifted his head then, his face tightening. 

            "I won't ask if you're okay," he began.  "I know you are not. But you are always there for me, so I wish to be there for you."  He didn't speak again, only looked at Cassandra and waited, not moving. 

            "Cullen."  Cassandra used his name this time.  "The Inquisitor did not share everything at that meeting."  He raised his eyebrows but continued to say nothing.  "Things were far, far worse in the Fade than she let on.  You should speak with her first.  She will need someone." 

            Cullen nodded at this but did not move.  "I will, Cassandra, but Talia and Leliana went to meet with Alistair already.  If he is to lead the Wardens now, he will need help, especially with the Hero still absent."  He sighed.  "There will be time for us to talk later, when she is rested." 

            "I am still not happy about the Wardens joining us," Cassandra replied.  The celebration below them was getting louder as sunrise approached, and this frustrated her more than she wanted to admit.  "They are celebrating, the soldiers and the remaining Wardens.  They don't understand the risks we are taking, the dangers of the Inquisitor's choices." 

            Cullen was nodding as he listened.  "I cannot say I disagree, Cassandra, only that I trust Talia's choice.  If anyone can keep the remaining Wardens safe from Corypheus, it will be Alistair and the Herald of Andraste."  A wave of grief and nausea washed over Cassandra at his words, and she clutched her stomach.  Her pulse leapt again, and as she felt her heartbeat thrum through her guts, she knew she couldn't stop it.  She did, however, manage to miss the Commander's boots as she vomited again. 

            Cullen was crouched by her side in an instant, one hand resting on her back and the other offering her the waterskin.  She tried to wave him off, muttering, "It's only water coming back up anyway," but he insisted. 

            "You have been through a battle, and then walked physically in the Fade.  Dehydration may be the only problem easily solved."  He smiled a little at her, and she drank. 

            Cullen stood then, giving her a little privacy and surveying the Fortress around them. Cassandra knew he was wondering what came next.  Around them, Adamant was almost unusable as a stronghold -- the age of the walls, once a positive when they were planning their attack, was now a major detriment, and the battle had done a great deal of damage.  The Inquisition would have to decide if the Fortress was worth keeping or if they would leave it to rot in the Western Approach.  Neither option afforded them a sense of peace. 

            When Cassandra finally forced her legs under her, Cullen turned back and tucked his arm around her waist.  "Do you want to go back to camp?" he asked gently. 

            "I cannot face the Inquisitor yet," she admitted but did not elaborate. 

            After a moment he nodded. 

            "Let's at least move away from this area, shall we?"  He lifted her arm over his shoulders and they trudged off together.  Cassandra supported as much of her weight as she could, but by the time they'd reached a small alcove of Warden tents, Cullen was practically carrying her.  The area looked largely undisturbed by the battle, and the sounds of the celebration had faded behind them.  Cullen helped her sit down next to the fire pit before stoking the embers back up. 

            There was silence again as he sat across from her, but she could see him turning her words over in his mind.  Finally, he spoke. 

            "What did you mean, when you said you cannot face her?"  They both knew who he meant.  Cassandra looked him, her hands loose in her lap.  He would not meet her eyes, instead choosing to poke at the fire with a piece of wood he'd found. 

            "Are you sure you want to know, Cullen? I know you care for her." 

            At that, his eyes flew to her face.  "How did you--"

            She waved a hand at him. "It is a poorly kept secret."  He rubbed the back of his neck and turned to stare out over the desert. 

            "I want to know," he said.  "It will not change anything."  He did not turn back, even when Cassandra started speaking. 

            She repeated the same story the Inquisitor had given at the meeting, but this time, Cassandra spared no details.  Speaking with a spirit in the shape of the Divine; tracing the fears of dreamers trapped in the Nightmare's grasp; encountering huge spiders, maggots, all manner of disgusting things; each part of their journey through the Fade came further to life as she spoke.  When she reached the cemetery in her story, Cullen stopped her. 

            "What cemetery?"  He didn't move to look at her, keeping his knees drawn up and his hands resting on his thighs.  Even so, Cassandra could see the tension in the lines of his body. 

            "The Inquisitor did not share this, I know," Cassandra said. "But we encountered a cemetery where each of her Circle lay buried.  On each grave…" she trailed off for a moment, wiping at her eyes.  Her breathing had picked up again, fear creeping back.  "On each grave was carved what killed us."  The last words came out a whisper. 

            Cullen's eyes sank closed.  His brow furrowed and smoothed several times, his body shivering.  She was sure it was not the wind.  Finally, eyes still closed, he turned his head back toward her. 

            "What…"  Cassandra could hear the word catch in his throat before he forced it out again.  "What did they say?" 

            She hesitated before answering, wondering how much to reveal.  "Some were not unexpected," she finally said.  "Vivienne fears irrelevance, Varric does not want to become his parents, Leliana fears her past. Their fears are ones they fight as they live." 

            "And the others?" 

            "Solas fears dying alone, as do we all.  Cole fears despair, which leads me to believe he is truly a spirit of compassion, as some have suggested."  Her voice had taken on a dispassionate, clinical tone now; she tried to remove herself from the cemetery in her mind, thinking about it like reading words from a page instead of reliving it. 

            "And yours?" 

            Cassandra closed her eyes.  "Helplessness," she breathed.  Her limbs started shaking again, slowly but gaining intensity.  "Maker take me, it was helplessness."  Her hands lifted to cover her face and she shook, quiet sobs sneaking past her fingers. 

            Cullen got up and sat next to her.  In these last minutes before dawn, the temperature had dropped and the wind picked up, and he stoked the fire again as he moved.  He did not touch her. 

            "You are not helpless, Cassandra," he said quietly when she'd more or less stopped shaking.  "In fact, you are perhaps the least helpless person I know.  The Inquisition would be lost, maybe never formed, without you, I would be in Kirkwall, lyrium addicted and quite possibly dead, and the Divine…" he trailed off, realizing too late he'd brought up a painful part of their Fade encounter.    

            "The Divine is dead, even with me," she said harshly.  "I was helpless to stop her." 

            "As were we all." 

            "That does not change--"

            "That changes everything," he insisted, now looking intently at her.  "Even Talia… the Inquisitor could not save Justinia.  We were all nothing against Corypheus at the beginning.  Now together with the Herald, we are something.  "  Cassandra had sat up straighter as he spoke, her hands coming away from her face as she thought.  At the mention of the Herald, though, she crumpled again.  Her breaths were so shallow, they were almost painful. 

            "The Herald is no such thing," she said, her voice shaking as her body seemed to shrink. 

            Cullen blinked hard.  "What do you mean?" 

            "In the Fade, when we followed the spirit that had stolen the face of the Divine, the Herald recovered her memories from the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  She is no Herald, merely an accident."  She relayed the story of the Inquisitor's recovered memories, another tale Talia had left out of the debriefing.  Cullen's face grew slowly blank as he listened. 

            Cassandra's head had fallen to her knees by the time she finished the story.  She was trying hard not to shake, trying to keep the panic attack at bay this time.  It wasn't working very well. 

            There was silence as he processed this.  Though he was quieter about it, Cullen was just as devout as Cassandra -- perhaps more so, considering all he'd been through.  They sat, neither moving or speaking, long enough for the horizon to fade from navy blue to light gray as sunrise approached. 

            Finally, Cullen spoke.  "This is why you cannot face the Inquisitor."  It was not a question.

            Cassandra nodded, though her head remained on her knees.  "Cullen… what if we were… if I was wrong?  What if she is not the one we were supposed to choose for this task?"  She lifted her head a little as she spoke, and the tears on her cheeks glistened under the dying moonlight.  Her hands moved to wipe them away but more followed. 

            "That… I don't know that that matters, Cassandra.  She has done great things for the Inquisition.  Isn't that what matters?" 

            "But… would the Divine approve? Would the Maker?" 

            "She was chosen by the Right and Left Hands of the Divine.  I'm sure Justinia would approve."  The soothing tones in Cullen's voice only seemed to upset Cassandra further.  

            "She was chosen by an accident, Cullen! Almost by Corypheus himself!"  She was shouting now, her face red. 

            "That's nonsense."  Cassandra got to her feet and started to interrupt, but Cullen's voice cut her off.  "That's nonsense, and you know it, Cassandra." 

            She glared at him.  Her shaking breaths were gone now, her anger given new direction.  "You disagree because you are infatuated with her! How could you be objective?" 

            Cullen looked taken aback at this, his eyes widening.  His mouth opened to speak several times before pressing into a hard line.  He dropped his gaze to his clenched hands.  "That's… I cannot… No. I will not deny that to me, she is Maker-sent, regardless of origin."  He climbed slowly to his feet, avoiding her eyes.  "And yet… I do not believe the Maker will fault us for placing faith in someone we… in someone good, someone caring." He took a deep breath, studying his boots.  "Accident or otherwise."    

            Cassandra was not to be placated.  "But what if Corypheus is right?"  Cullen's head snapped up, his face confused. 

            "What do you… right about what?" 

            It came out a whisper.  "What if the Maker truly has abandoned us?"  Saying it aloud broken something in Cassandra.  Her knees gave out, her hands covered her face, and Cullen stepped to her just barely fast enough to keep her from plummeting to the ground.

            The tall woman collapsed against him.  He tucked one arm around her waist and the other across her shoulders, supporting her weight as she cried, her body shaking.  Her words had sucked Cullen's mind all the way back to Haven, to that moment in the mountains when Talia had described her encounter with the Elder One and his threats.  He turned those memories carefully over, considering the events from the Fade, and yet he couldn't find any evidence that the Maker had, indeed, abandoned them. 

            Over Cassandra's shoulder, he watched the sun peek over the horizon.  The night was over. 

            Cassandra took her time coming back to herself.  The shoulder of Cullen's shirt was soaked through with snot and tears by the time she found her feet again, but he didn't mind.  When she pulled away, he dropped his hands to shoulders and smiled gently at her. 

            "I hate to tell you this," he began, and her body tensed again. "But you really need a bath."  A bark of laughter forced its way out of her chest, and she felt her body relax a bit. 

            "I will take that under consideration, Commander."  Wiping under her eyes, she tried to smile back.  "And I will try to be stronger." 

            "Have faith, Cassandra," he replied, squeezing her shoulders.  "We have a long way to go, but we will not fail." 

            She chuckled, a dry sound with no humor in it.  "It is hard to have faith when we face what we do. The Nightmare in the Fade… it knew that about me.  It knew I have worried about the Inquisitor before, it knew about my failings, that I really do feel… helpless, at times." 

            "We all do."  She scoffed.  "It is the truth," he insisted, moving his head to search for her gaze.  When she raised her eyes to his, he continued.  "We are part of the Maker's plan, and that plan can make us feel helpless.  But if you believe in the Maker, then you accept that plan, including the Inquisitor's part in it.  Even if he did not give her that mark, even if Andraste didn't help her out of the Fade… This is how things are supposed to be." 

            Her brow furrowed.  The tears on her face had dried, leaving a tight, sticky feeling behind on her skin.  "You believe that?" 

            "I do." 

            "Trusting that plan… it is hard." 

            Cullen nodded.  "Faith must be tested.  It is how we know what we have." 

            "You would know."  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she cringed immediately, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.  "Oh, Cullen, I am sorry, that was unworthy of me." 

            He dropped his hands from her shoulders to rub the back of his neck.  Finally, he glanced back up at her.  "My faith has often been tested, you are right.  It took years to feel at peace with what happened at Kinloch Hold, and even now I still struggle with Kirkwall, as you well know.  There are still times when…" He seemed to shake himself and dropped the subject.  "I still have nightmares, but I also still have faith.  The Inquisitor… Talia… has helped me, more than I could have imagined." 

            The Seeker's face softened.  "I am sorry I yelled at you about her," she said quietly.  "You are happier, and I am happy for you." 

            Cullen smiled.  "Think of what she has done for us, Cassandra.  All the work for the Inquisition, all the help she has brought to Thedas and its people, all the good she's done…"  Cassandra started to nod as he spoke.  "There is something of the Maker in her, regardless of choosing or origin." 

            "Perhaps you are right."  The tall woman stepped back further from Cullen and rolled her shoulders.  "Perhaps, also, we should get some rest." 

            Cullen nodded and the two moved away from the fire, back toward the main area of the fortress.  They could see the sun rising in earnest now. 

            "Look."  Cullen pointed at it, the pink and orange hues decorating the sky over the Fortress.  "The dawn has come," he said, echoing the hymn they'd sung back in the mountains after Haven, nearly back at the beginning. 

            Cassandra groaned.  "That is disgustingly poetic, Commander."  She paused to look.  "But it is apt. Will you… May we speak again, if…" She trailed off, and did not make eye contact. 

            Beside her, Cullen nodded.  "Of course, Seeker."  After a moment, they resumed their walk. 

            Cassandra broke the silence first as they turned the corner back to the main battlements.  "You do not stumble when you speak of faith, Cullen." 

            He chuckled.  "If only I could master my words around the Inquisitor," he said as the camp came into view at the bottom of the stairs.  They could just see Talia's dark hair bobbing among the tents and bedrolls, stopping often to speak with wounded soldiers or healers. 

            "She is probably looking for you." 

            Cullen nodded in agreement.  "I should probably go.  Will you join us?" 

            Cassandra shook her head.  "No.  I believe I will walk the battlements a while longer. But thank you."  Cullen started down the stairs, tugging nervously on his gloves as he did so.  Suddenly he stopped and turned back.  Cassandra had not yet moved, her eyes fixed on the Inquisitor. 

            "Cassandra?" 

            She shifted to look down at him.  "Yes, Cullen?" 

            "In the Fade… in the cemetery, were we all there?" 

            "Yes." 

            He lifted a hand to his neck.  "What killed the… what was the Inquisitor afraid of?"  He did not make eye contact. 

            "The Herald was the only one absent.  The Nightmare instead taunted her as we walked with claims of futility, that her pain will be worth nothing."  The Seeker paused.  "I do not know if this is what she fears. Perhaps--" 

            "If the Nightmare knows her through the Fade…"

            "Perhaps this is a question for Talia, Commander."  She nodded in the Inquisitor's direction, and Cullen took the hint. 

            "Yes, of course." He dropped his hand, turning to study the remains of Adamant Fortress around them.  Then he turned back.  "Wait…"  Cassandra had moved to walk away, but stopped to look at him.  "What killed me?" He asked quietly. 

            Cassandra walked down a few steps to look Cullen in the eye.  She reached out, grasped his shoulder and squeezed gently.  He closed his eyes, and Cassandra studied his haggard face for a moment.  Then she spoke.

            "Failure," she said quietly, before she squeezed again and walked away.    


End file.
